


Cypress and Larkspur

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e19 The Werther Project, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I want is for Sam and Rowena to go on a lovely, romantic Crowley-killing date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cypress and Larkspur

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this tumblr post](http://ibelieveinthelittletreetopper.tumblr.com/post/117175041488/scones-and-texting-and-murder-all-i-want-is-for)

Sam isn’t stupid.

  
Stubborn, yes.  Single-minded at times, absolutely.  On occasion even blinded by the mission.  But not stupid.  He knows—as sure as he knows his own name and that he  _will_  find a way to cure his brother—that Rowena is up to no good. But right now, as the sharp edges of his consciousness fuzz and blur, it becomes harder and harder to remember.

  
It’s just that her hand is on his arm, warm and surprisingly strong.  And she smells so good, like cypress in the sun and the faint, clean scent of larkspur. She’s so close and he’s so tired.  Would it really be so misguided to rest his head against her softness? To let her murmur gentle words of encouragement in her lilting voice?

  
He shakes himself back to the present, feeling the warm, slick blood drip and pool.  He needs to focus. He can do this. He can give more; he can give anything (everything) if it means saving his brother.  

  
But Rowena’s hands are solid and comforting and it’s been so long since he was touched in kindness.  Of course she has an agenda, but Sam can almost overlook that when he considers how she’s there, right beside him, right now. She’s been there for him: answering the phone when he calls, no matter the time of day or night, offering to come and help rather than leaving him behind, leaving him to scramble, panicked that he’ll be too late. 

  
Tonight she saved his life.  

  
His vision narrows to pinpoints, the smell of his own blood eclipsed by the fragrance of her hair. They have so much in common. They’re both so driven, relentless.  They both want Crowley dead.  

  
It could be fun, Sam muses. The two of them working together.  Descending to the dungeon, he’d take her delicate hand in his to help her down the stairs, maybe use both hands to span her tiny waist and lift her down the steepest drops.  He pictures himself sharply dressed in a suit and tie befitting such a grand occasion, a sprig of spiky purple hyssop (essential to the enchantment) tucked in the buttonhole of his lapel. 

  
Once Crowley is dead, Rowena will turn to him, yards of velvet trailing in her wake, the jewels on her fingers twinkling in the candlelight as she claps her hands in glee. Sam will lead her to a waiting picnic and reach for a bottle of the finest champagne, perfectly chilled in an ornate silver bucket. She’ll look on in admiration as he uses his big hands to effortlessly pop the cork, laughing as the crystal flutes overflow with bubbles.  Maybe they’ll even dance.   Sam smiles at the thought, because even with the towering heels she’s so fond of, it will be a stretch…

  
But he’s so cold.  He shivers as Rowena dances out of sight, the flickering candles replaced by dusty basement windows.  Another hand touches his face, and he turns toward the voice so ingrained in his very being. 

  
Dean sighs with relief when Sam opens his eyes, rocking back on his heels to turn his attention to his brother’s bleeding arm.  

  
Sam knows without looking that Rowena is gone.  It’s back to the mission.  
  


They’ll meet again.


End file.
